


Dinner and Mayhem

by Ningikuga



Category: Atop the Fourth Wall, The Spoony Experiment
Genre: M/M, Mad Science Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ningikuga/pseuds/Ningikuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Linksano and Dr. Insano go on a nice, quiet date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and Mayhem

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the July 2016 Fillathon for the TGWTG Kinkmeme over on LJ, for [this prompt.](http://taekarado.livejournal.com/21601.html?thread=1485665)
> 
> This work is intended to depict the characters/personae, not real people, and absolutely no implications about the people who write and play those characters are intended or should be inferred.

The teleportation field looked like little more than the flicker of the orange halogen streetlamps against the evening fog. Linksano self-consciously arranged the lapels of his trenchcoat, flicked a speck of lint from his shirt, and checked his reflection in the window of the darkened dry-cleaners. His hair was still mostly in place; he couldn’t remember whether there was a comb in his pocket or not.

He ambled across the street to the little bistro. Inside, two knots of young professionals laughed over near-demolished gorgonzola pizzas and bottles of cheap Italian red wine; an older businesswoman read a novel and picked at a plate of antipasto. The rest of the place was empty. Linksano snorted and sat down at one of the too-small wrought-iron patio tables to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, he pushed his chair back from the table and stretched his cramping legs. The paper napkin he was designing a new cybermat propulsion system on was getting damp from the thickening mist; he folded it up and stuck it in his coat. The pencil tapped the chipped paint of the table. He’d said eight-thirty. Where was he?

A muffled scream rang out from somewhere down the street. Linksano dropped the pencil and reached into an inside pocket, drawing out a slender contraption of glass and copper wire. It barely looked like a weapon at all; he hoped it had more than a couple of rounds’ worth of charge left.

A second scream sounded, then a third, followed by a metallic clanging and the sound of breaking glass. Metal scraped against metal; the enveloping fog did its best to swallow the noise. Something red flickered, brighter than a traffic light, then disappeared, like heat lighting.

Closer and closer the clanging and scraping drew, accompanied by occasional shrieks and punctuated by diffuse flashes of red. Linksano checked his watch. It was almost nine. No messages from the ship; it appeared this was his problem to solve.

The shape that loomed out of the fog was vaguely scorpionoid, with too many legs of jointed steel, a pair of gripper arms in front, and a laser turret where the tail should be. The cockpit ellipsoid was the size of a mini-van, with a front mostly of plexiglass; condensation dripped from the metal frame like poison from a cobra’s fangs.

Linksano snorted. “You’re half an hour late,” he complained as the side of the cockpit swung upwards like a gull’s wing.

“I know,” Insano called down. The spindly steel legs folded like an accordion until he could hop the remaining few feet to the asphalt. “I got stuck in traffic over by the turnpike; no idea why it’s this bad this late. We should work on that at some point.”

“Mad civil engineering?” Linksano chuckled. “I suppose it’s not that much more difficult than some of our projects.”

“If we’re going to rule the planet, we’ll have to take it on eventually,” Insano noted. “What do you think? This isn’t the final design yet, but I worked out the bug that was jamming the hydraulics on the back legs.” He patted the giant metal arachnid on the side; the door swung closed and the legs drew together, fitting the arthropoid horror into two parking spaces.

Linksano looked it over again as best he could in the poor lighting. “Nice aesthetics,” he observed, “and it’s certainly more stable than your bipedal monstrosity, but I’m still concerned about tripwires and snares.”

“That’s what the front manipulator arms are for,” Insano explained. “The cutter attachment should be able to snip its way out of anything less tough than carbon monofilament. I need to run some more trials, of course. Have you ordered yet?”

“No, darling, I was waiting for you.” Linksano pushed himself to his feet and slid an arm around Insano’s waist.

Insano cackled and pressed a kiss to his partner’s lips. “Silly. You had no idea whether I’d even get here before closing,” he chided.

“We could always force them to re-open,” Linksano said with a cruel smirk. “Are you thinking pizza or pasta tonight?”

“Pizza, with a nice crisp salad and a side of terrorizing yuppies,” Insano replied, matching the smirk. “We can always just make pasta at home.”

Linksano nodded. “Then we should get started before they all leave,” he suggested. “Spinach and garlic or ham and pineapple?”

“Let’s see what the staff suggest,” Insano giggled, flexing the hand that wasn’t draped around Linksano’s shoulders. Lightning crackled around his fingers. “Ready to have the place to ourselves?”

“Let’s go,” Linksano agreed, brandishing the ray gun. “Don’t forget to tip extra if we break anything.”

“I always do!” Insano laughed, and blew the bistro’s door off its hinges.


End file.
